The Eve of Twilight
by Her.Vanilla.Majesty
Summary: There was a time when Sophie Hatter did not trifle with matters of the heart, when she was still sharp and sensible. It was then that he flew into her life, all sunlit hair and deceivingly blue eyes, and she fell into his most complicated trap yet. Love.
1. Chapter 1

_A story about the fickleness of love and the volatile winds of uncharted desire..._

_A satire of the temerarious nature of newborn affection._

_A tale of a simple hatter and a heartless wizard._

-Her. Vanilla. Majesty

* * *

><p><em>"Hear my soul speak. Of the very instant that I saw you,<em>

_Did my heart fly at your service."_

_~ 'The Tempest'_

**_..._**

**1: Inception**

_He's taken my heart. She knows, and she's come to scold me…_

Lady Prudence watched in slight disturbance and perturbation as the disreputable Witch sipped delicately from the glass flute of blood-red champagne, tilting her head back with a content smile that spokes volumes of easy pleasure. In the corner of the chamber, her elderly butler squirmed in discomfort, caught between awe and horror. Taking note, she waved him away with a flutter of her gloved hand, and he did not hesitate to scamper out the open doors, the empty silver tray jangling in his hands.

_I wonder if she plans to bring him back…for me._

Sunlight filtered through the stained glass windows, bathing the tiled floors in splashes of red, gold, and blue. Dust motes lingered in the air, dappling her long, fluttering eyelashes and emphasizing the pitch-black irises she inherited from her mother.

_Probably not…_

The Witch was dressed extravagantly for their annual meeting, -a fact that surprised her somewhat-, donning a strapless dusky gown that hugged her full figure so tightly it was near scandalous. Ruby tangles fell down to her slender waist and her frigid blue eyes were grim, yet sparkling underneath the chandelier above them. She snapped her long fingers expertly and the doors slammed shut with a startling bang that made Prudence sit upright in surprise.

"Prudence, you're looking awfully pale today." The Witch mused loudly with a wickedly beautiful grin. Her voice was thick and sweet.

_Like her amoureux…her beloved…_

Prudence took in a sharp breath, the hours of rehearsal she had spent perfecting her words suddenly seemed useless and in vain. "I...am?" She winced at how unsure she had sounded, how weak. No wonder her lover had left her…

_Weak. Yes, you were weak, weren't you…?_

"This wouldn't have anything to do with our deal, now would it?" The Witch conjured a small pipe in her hand, drawing in smoke with a heave and breathing it out with a small delighted giggle. She did not seem to notice Prudence's distressed expression...or care.

_Looking into those impossibly bottle blue eyes…you melted…_

"He…" Prudence cast her face down, her auburn tresses falling to brush her furrowed brows gently. "He left…"

_Melted right into his hands…_

The Witch let out a mirthless but hearty laugh, pressing a dainty hand to her chest. "Oh, my! He left you? And without warning, too?" She wiped away a tear welling in her right eye, smirking arrogantly as she flicked it away. "I warned you about him, dear…"

_What was there to warn about? What was wrong with him? No, what was wrong with **her**…?_

"It wasn't his fault." Prudence snarled suddenly, her chest feeling bound with emotion and constricted with ignominy as she forced out the words. The Witch's mocking tone humiliated her further as she confessed in absolute shame. "It was mine…"

_My mistakes couldn't have been so careless, as to drive him away…_

"Oh, really?" The Witch rolled her eyes, as if she had heard the very same words far too many times. "Please, do enlighten me."

Prudence's lips thinned and she felt her resolve cracking as her will to fight for him diminished slightly. She let her arm fall to her lap and folded her fingers. "I pushed him too far. Too fast."

_So he left…and I feel so…_

"Too fast?" The Witch grinned. "That's absolutely rich."

_…Alone_

"I asked if he would like to…if he would consider…" Prudence's voice became small and meek as her eyes flitted to the ground in unbecoming shame. She heaved in air. "…If he would take my hand in marriage."

_...Unloved by the one you love most…_

The Witch coughed abruptly, smoke wafting from her parted ruby lips as she stared at Prudence with something akin to shock.

Prudence stared back, eyes hard and jaded.

The Witch blinked, her mouth twitched.

Then she threw her head back and let out a laugh.

* * *

><p>Sophie Hatter did not trifle with the trivial matters that were so often discussed in Market Chipping by the local gossips. Today, the town seemed to be simply bursting with news from the lowland manors that had spread quickly, like wildfire.<p>

Sometimes women bustled by the hat shop, idly inspecting the articles she displayed by the windows this morning while chattering to her repeatedly about Lady Prudence's new beau who was, apparently, a native of Kingsbury and, had even more shockingly, refused her hand in holy matrimony.

The topic seemed to be especially popular since she'd had to endure hearing about it from ten different customers. And it was barely afternoon, too!

They told her about how Prudence had withdrawn from the world, starving herself to ease the pain. They spoke of the heartless man that had left her a shell of her former self. They talked about how dashing he must have been to have earned the Lady's fancy….

These were the tidbits of useless information that Sophie refused to let her mind linger on, lest she end up one of the giggling maids who strolled about in town, wasting away their days.

Like Delisse, for example.

"Can you believe the nerve of him, Sophie?" Delisse asked, carelessly placing the blue-ribbon hat she'd been trying on for the past minute back on the faceless mannequin. "Leaving behind Lady Prudence, oh I can just imagine her pain..."

"Hm," Sophie nodded absently. "Were you going to buy that hat?"

"What?" Delisse glanced around, as if forgetting were she was and exactly what the shop sold. "Oh, um. No."

"Oh." Sophie blinked, wanting to tell her to leave but feeling terribly impolite for entertaining the thought. Delisse was a kind-hearted, if a bit ditzy, girl. She didn't deserve that.

"Oh, well. I better go to Cesari's and tell Lettie. You don't suppose she's busy today, do you?" Delisse asked, her lower lip jutting out in thought.

Sophie remembered the rowdy young men that lined the counters, calling for her sister's attentions as they ordered cake and shamelessly piled her with compliments while they were at it.

_'Lettie, why don't you come over and serve me?'_

_'Rascal, I was here first! Don't listen to him, Lettie!'_

_'You men are barbaric. Obviously, the lady was going to serve **me** next…'_

"Nope, the bakery's not that full during the morning."

"Oh!" Delisse's face brightened as she breezed away, much to Sophie's relief and slight guilt. "Bye, then!"

_I'm sorry Lettie._

**…**

Sophie had a few more minutes of well-deserved silence before the chiming bell rang, signaling the arrival of another potential buyer…or more useless news about the runaway beau of Lady Prudence.

Sophie lifted her head slowly from the book she had been reading_,_ and gasped sharply in spite of herself.

A tall, stately woman sashayed in the room, wearing an inexplicably expensive dark gown that bloomed down in smooth, satin flows, the sharp smell of roses filling the air upon her entrance. The woman had hair far redder than hers, blushing the color of blood as they cascaded down her bare shoulders. A violet fan was in her right hand, tapping against her thigh. Sharp blue eyes took in the room, unimpressed.

"Good morning." Sophie greeted, a shocked lilt to her strained voice. _What was such an aristocratic customer doing in her humble little hat shop?_

The woman promptly disregarded her, diverting her full attention to the hats, yet not seeming interested enough to buy any. Her mouth parted, the closed, as if debating whether to deign speaking to one as simple and plain as a hatter, or simply go about ignoring her.

_'Come for gossip?' _Sophie questioned her in her mind, watching the woman stroll about the shop, humming contentedly. The woman tapped a ringed finger on her delicate chin, a smile lifting her ruby lips.

Sophie sat behind the counter and waited, careful not to seem too impatient. Nobles in Market Chipping had impressive and intimidating connections, and she did not want to upset one, knowing fully well that if she did, it would surely come back to her.

The woman turned to her suddenly, her expensive gown gliding over the carpet. "You there. Girl."

Sophie stiffened, put back by the woman's assuming tone. She was a stickler for manners, but she knew anyone would find such a tone slightly offending. "Yes, 'mam?"

"Have you any red velvet hats?" The woman asked, her voice airy yet demanding in it's own way. Yes, she was most definitely a noblewoman.

Sophie knew she didn't. She had sold her last red hat to Relda, an old woman who lived across the street, and hadn't bothered to make a new one since the trending color of the season happened to be lavender and baby blue…

But she knew saying that to any customer would only prompt pesky questions such as 'you didn't even bother to check?' or 'how can you be so sure?'.

And so, Sophie strode to the hidden chest beneath the dusty counter, opening the heavy metal lid and peering inside at the treasure of hats. The woman waited on the other side, tapping her long fingers on the empty table, inspecting the shop with a keen eye.

After a minute of false and fruitless looking, Sophie put herself upright and smiled apologetically at the woman. "It appears not, 'mam."

"Shame." The woman unfurled the fan haughtily.

Sophie hurried out the words, not quite ready to lose her only chance for profit for the day. "If I may ask, 'mam. Why exactly do you want a red hat? The trending colors are…"

"Lavender and baby blue." The woman cut in coolly, her perfect brow arching. "I'm well aware."

"Oh." Sophie could feel heat rise to her cheeks in rushed embarrassment.

"I apologi-"

"Why don't I," The woman cut in, her voice as crisp and brisk as autumn wind, "come back in a few days and give you time to make one? I'll pay you handsomely for your services…"

Sophie blinked, a little more than stunned. _A special order, hm? This obviously gold-laden woman would be willing to wait for her, meek and simple Sophie Hatter, to design a hat?_

"Nothing too gaudy, but keep the colors bright. Will you do it?"

Sophie stared back at the woman's hard, glittering eyes, feeling her throat close at the offer. She stared at the diamond bib necklace that sparkled at her throat and the darkness of her evening gown. She stared at the quirk of her lips that suggested measures of confidence and self-possession.

Just as she was about to refuse –as she was quite sure she wanted to- her vocal chords twisted and twanged and she found the word rolling off her tongue unwillingly.

"Deal."

The woman turned as her lips twisted into a knowing smile. "Lovely."

Sophie felt for her throat and swallowed tightly. Her chest heaved and fell irregularly as she struggled to explain what had just occurred. _What had she said?_

The woman shot her a sparkling grin, one that sent a chill down her spine. It was so knowing and bold…

Turning away briefly to wipe away a sheen of moisture on her forehead she gathered her wits to decline the offer again.

A whoosh of air followed and Sophie jerked around, jumping as she was a little more shaken from her loss of control over her own words a few seconds ago.

"Madam…?"

The shop was empty and the woman had gone.

_Odd, _Sophie thought in her head, her eyes darting to survey the sketchy scene. _I didn't even hear the bell. As if she had left by the whims of magic itself…_

* * *

><p><em>Hiding is a specialty…<em>

His eyes narrowed into tiny, icy-blue slits, peering through a fog of green as he watched _her _zoom across the phalanx of charms he had conjured up in the sky, effortlessly dodging his little blasts of magic and pelting his hexes with sparks of her own dark mana.

_A specialty most useful, when you've run away so many times…_

"Hell." He hissed, his breath coming out in smoky wisps as he drew himself upright, outstretching his fingers as he called forth a guise to cover his person from her watching eyes. A silky thread-like cloak fondled along his palm, invisible to the untrained eye. With a simple swish of his hand, he draped it around himself and sighed grimly.

_Running, running, running…_

She dipped close to the ground, her black gown spilling in with the darkness of the night sky as she vanished into thin air, leaving behind a cold laugh that sent a current of fresh fright to him.

_Running from his past…his mistakes_

A torrent of rain poured on the parched land before him at her disappearance and he glided across the dying field, his magnificent blue robe trailing behind him graciously. Water drizzled on his translucent form, mottling the fine fabric of his unseen white tunic and splashing on his pallid cheeks a trail of little, sparkling drops.

_…Yet, in the end, they all came to find him…_

In the distance, through a thick veil of musky fog, sat a moving castle that creaked out a greeting to him.

* * *

><p>Michael stretched under the thick sheets he had wrapped around his tiny body, shivering. Firelight crackled above, playing with the shadows on the ceiling and depicting wicked shapes that sent a shiver down his spine.<p>

A devious chuckle sounded.

Michael lifted the blanket below his chin. "Calcifer, stop."

"Aw, kid." A voice grumbled and Michael shut his eyes as warmth blazed across from him in airy strokes. "You ruin my fun."

"I'm _trying_ to sleep." The boy replied sardonically.

The voice laughed cynically. "Can you take a little constructive criticism? You're _failing. _Miserably, if I may add."

"You may not."

"Oh, this banter is fun, isn't it?" The voice burbled happily. "Let's keep at it."

"_Calcifer. _Please, just go to sleep."

"I can't. That blasted Howl still isn't here and I have to keep watch over the castle."

"Maybe he is visiting a friend of his. You know how Howl likes to socialize." There was a tilt to the last word that sent Calcifer into a fit of chuckles.

"Howl doesn't _have_ any friends at Market Chipping, Michael, you poor naïve boy. _Lady _friends_,_ sure. But not…_friends."_

"Because that makes so much sense." Michael rolled his eyes, a smile inching down his lips tiredly.

"Besides, fire demons like me are a bundle of energy. I don't quite feel like falling asleep yet."

"Too bad you waste most of yours talking our ears off."

"Ha. Ha."

Michael turned his body to face the owner of the disembodied voice, glaring at the fire demon that sat contentedly on a pile of dark logs, smiling. Calcifer's flames were a magnificent red, and he played with the tips of it, making smoke curl into the air.

The door to the castle slammed open, startling them both. Michael turned and gasped sharply at what he saw. "Howl!"

The wizard strode in unceremoniuosly, his hauntingly beautiful features looking hard and jaded in the dim light that Calcifer provided. His bottle blue eyes were dark and gloomy, specks of gold touching his dulled irises. His jaw was locked and his mouth was curved downwards in melancholia.

"…Master Howl?" Michael asked.

"I'm tired." The wizard declared, tufts of his drenched blonde hair coming across his delicately furrowed brows. "Calcifer, prepare me a hot bath."

"Hmph." The fire demon huffed, put off by the wizard's commanding tone.

Michael watched as Howl slithered across the living room, his movements quick and precise, as if he knew exactly where to go. He dashed up the stairs, his robe falling behind him to reveal his tattered white tunic.

Michael frowned. "What happened, Master?"

Calcifer snorted at the wizard, a grimace painted on his wavering face. His eyes blazed and burned. "You let another one go, didn't you? And you ran away..."

Howl barely spared them a glance, leaving them with mysterious parting words to ponder upon as usual. "Perhaps giving away my heart was the best decision I've made so far, Calcifer..."

A breeze swept the wizard away and Calcifer smirked at a confused Michael. "I told you it was because of a lady friend."

* * *

><p><em>The next chapter is coming sooner than you think...<em>

_Review, please. :)_

_-Her. Vanilla. Majesty_


	2. Chapter 2

_A story about the fickleness of love and the volatile winds of uncharted desire..._

_A satire of the temerarious nature of newborn affection._

_A tale of a simple hatter and a heartless wizard._

**_..._**

**_Thank you for your reviews, I greatly appreciate you taking your time to post your opinions. I hope the story plays out well...for all of our sakes. :)_**

-Her. Vanilla. Majesty

* * *

><p><strong>Disclaimer: I do not own Howl's Moving Castle. And even if I did, I wouldn't change anything about it. Nada.<strong>

* * *

><p><em>"Love is a smoke<em>

_And is made with the fume of sighs."_

_~ 'Romeo and Juliet'_

**_..._**

**2: Futile**

"Sophie!"

A barrage of knocks assaulted her door, insisting and constant. Sophie's eyes fluttered open, light streaming in from the open shutters and blurring her groggy sight.

"Sophie!"

"Coming…" She planted her hands on the cold mattress below her, feeling the sheets crinkle under her fingers as she sat up and fitted her feet into a pair of waiting, old slippers. Wiggling loose strands of her copper hair, charitably called red-gold by her darling sisters, Sophie smoothed through the tangled locks.

"Sophie!"

She scuffled herself across her room, a yawn forcing her mouth open and rubbing against her throat forcefully. Her vocal chords felt tired and unused, her mouth was chalky and dry. She could only imagine what she looked like with her bedraggled hair and droopy eyes.

"Confound it, Sophie! Are you awake or not?"

She opened the door, preparing a look of irritation at her impatient visitor.

Martha stood on the other side of the threshold, her eyes glinting with annoyance as she crossed her arms. "If it isn't our very own Sleeping Beauty. Who kissed _you_ awake?"

Cheeks flushed with displeasure, Sophie snapped. "Oh, shut it."

"Honey is taking us out to shop for new dresses, didn't she tell you?" Martha asked, tipping her head at the question as her mouth quirked in amusement.

Sophie smiled grudgingly. "I've been busy…"

"You always are." Martha rolled her dark eyes, grinning brightly. "So go get dressed and meet us downstairs. A little walk around town won't kill you…_hopefully_."

"But the hat shop..." Sophie protested, her voice faint and strained in weariness.

Martha brushed past her, into her sister's sleeping chambers. "Sophie, please. Allow yourself a little vacation. You are your own boss after all." Martha strode to the table in the corner, reaching over a cluster of pins and yarn to carefully lift up a velvet hat.

Her curiosity was piqued when she noticed what expensive and fine fabric Sophie had masterfully weaved in with the silky red cloth. "What is this?"

Sophie whirled around, her eyes widening as she gently pried it out of her sister's grip.

"A hat." The answer was vague enough, yet she knew Martha would continue to pry.

"I can see that," Martha replied dryly, fruitlessly trying plucking it back.

Sophie huffed in indignation, tucking it gently on the crook of her arm to keep her at bay. "Must you be so nosy?"

"I am your sister."

"My _younger _sister."

"All the better."

Martha smiled, appealing to Sophie's gentler side with her well-placed dimples and cheerful eyes. "Who are you making it for?"

"Well, since you ask oh-so-nicely…" Sophie droned, a smirk lifting her parched lips, "A rather impressive looking noblewoman came by the shop a few days ago. She was searching," Sophie held up her masterpiece, "for a red-velvet hat."

"Red?" Martha looked near appalled at the words. "What about baby blue? Lavender?"

"She made a special order just for this." Sophie shrugged, adopting a languid tone. "I would be paid handsomely for my work, or so she said."

"Well, I suppose such a hefty promise is fitting." Martha nodded, tracing a finger over the sleek edges of the silken ribbon. "It is…stunning."

"I like to think so." Sophie smiled reluctantly. "Even the eldest of three has to be spared with _some_ talent…"

* * *

><p>"He's been in that bloody workshop for days now…" Calcifer mumbled, gnawing on sticks of firewood while maintaining a contemplative expression that didn't quite suite his usually fiery demeanor. "What do you suppose his problem is?"<p>

"Well," Michael sighed, his brows crinkling into a childish display of reflection. "You did mention something about a lady friend, Calcifer."

The fire demon snorted in a caustic manner that ruined his pensive features, his face lit up with impatience and knowing. "Howl is never this dejected over a mere little _girl_. Perhaps…the Witch has found him?"

"Impossible!" Michael declared, his mouth twisting in disbelief, much to Calcifer's great amusement. "Howl is too clever and powerful to fall for the likes of the Witch."

"Your faith is admirable," Calcifer commended him, albeit a bit mockingly. "But just because Howl is –admittedly- a virtuosic wizard, you should not derive from it, so hastily, that he is invincible. Because he is not."

"He is a man without a heart, Calcifer." Michael spoke with a somberness that dulled the lively atmosphere of the sunlit room. "And if that doesn't make him indestructible enough, then I don't know what will."

* * *

><p>"Michael."<p>

The voice woke the little boy from his nap and he stared up drowsily at the tall, slender figure that loomed imperiously over him. "Master Howl?"

He would have expected his Master to come out with bloodshot eyes, frayed hair of whatever color he had 'magicked' it into, and at the very least a hint of stubble. Something that would have detracted from his usual perfectness. Michael was disappointed to find that it was simply not the case.

Wizard Howl stood in an elegant silver and blue jacket that flowed down to pass his waist with it's fancy scalloped edges and long flowing sleeves that fanned out grandly. His hair was a gleaming golden halo, brushed and reaching past his jaw in silken strands, the bangs sliding down his glassy, vacuous eyes that did not betray the fact that he had slaved over something for the past trio of days, leaving his apprentice to wonder in silence. His jaw was smooth and empty of any facial hair whatsoever.

"Michael, I have some business to attend to about in town. Tell Calcifer to move that castle twenty miles north, into Market Chipping."

Michael nodded dutifully as he tried to shake off the envy festering in his mind at the wizard's comely and _expensive_ appearance. _He had infiltrated the money box._ "Shall I cast a fresh fog spell over the town, Master?"

"No need." Howl waved away the question, slipping on a fine golden necklace that dangled to his torso, swaying hypnotically. A sapphire pendant, encased in crystal, gleaming and sparkling, hung on the chain loosely. "I shall be going."

"Will you buy food?" Michael asked, tearing his eyes away.

Howl marched to the door, his polished boots winking under the sunlight. "I will get to it." He stopped, turning around abruptly to shoot the boy an eloquent smile. "And next time, Michael. Hide the money box in a place less, blaringly obvious, will you?"

He was swept away like spring breeze then, leaving behind his dumbstruck apprentice to gawp in shame.

* * *

><p><em>She could vividly imagine the day…that fateful day that had led to his departure from her heart and grasp.<em>

_The day that left the deal between her and The Witch, broken and unfixable._

_The day in which his secret had unraveled before her very eyes and he had sent poison-tipped arrows into her unsuspecting heart…_

_…Before it all…_

Lady Prudence sat on the chair, resting her arms on her lap as she stared at her father's hurried discussion with a tall, cloaked man. She frowned as she spotted her father's cheeks burn red in embarrassment and the rapid opening and closing of his mouth to show that he was indeed stammering.

Her father. _Stammering_. Something was wrong.

"Prudence…" Her mother reached for her as she strode past. "Please, don't…"

"That man." Prudence pointed to them and her mother hurriedly placed her hands back to her sides. "He's been visiting us often, yet you've always kept me…and yourself from him. Who is he?"

"Prudence, darling…" Her mother stared at her beseechingly, pulling her away from the window she had been spying through. "Don't meddle with your father's business. He can take care of it."

"By the looks of it, he apparently can't," retorted Prudence.

"Darling, look! It's Henry, the boy's been looking for you all day!" Her mother proclaimed hurriedly, tugging at her sleeves once more and feigning happiness.

Prudence frowned. This man must have been awfully intimidating for her mother to act so. Henry was a lowly page, sent to them by the neighboring manors of the other towns as a gift, though her parents often treated him as a slave. Prudence had grown to love the little boy as her own brother, much to her parent's chagrin.

"I am not inept, Mother!" Prudence snarled, the ungrateful slants of her eyes narrowing in suspicion. Her lips pulled back to show bared teeth. Her mother pulled her back again, insistent. Prudence resisted, hissing in her most demanding manner. "Who is he?"

"You should not know this!" barked her mother, eyes flaring at her daughter's rather unbecoming attitude towards authority. "He is most disreputable, and I shan't let you tarnish our name!"

"It's already been tarnished." Prudence's words were as sharp as a knife, piercing right through her mother's soul. "With all the debt you now owe, to both the kingdom and me… All those days you've left me in this cold manor with nothing but loneliness left to hold onto… As _you_ and father tossed money into every gamble you set your eyes on!"

"Prudence…" Her mother gasped, color flooding from her face. "That's hardly fair."

"It's completely fair!" Prudence's reply was heated and brusque. "You've kept me in the dark about the matter far too long, and now this too? Who is he?"

Lady Geneva bit her rosy lips, staring at her daughter's malignant, glaring eyes and feeling something akin to guilt well up inside of her. "The Royal Wizard."

Prudence laughed balefully, the ringing of her tone sharp and stinging. "I assume what makes him so 'disreputable' is that he's come to collect your dues, am I right Mother?"

Lady Geneva's cheeks flushed red, and vigor returned to her words with a sudden rush of indignation. "He's dangerous and crafty too. I cannot risk you with him."

"You've taken many unwise risks already." Prudence pulled her arms back and headed for the door, noting her mother's aghast look with a bit of pride and a minuscule tinge of regret. "I doubt this will make any difference."

_…_

_…_

"Father!" she hollered, racing across the room, a flurry of skirts and velvet.

The cloaked man turned to her as she interrupted their conversation by imitating an accidental, yet sudden crash against him.

"Prudence!" her father snapped, horrified and disgusted by her lack of grace.

_"Oof!" _The cloaked man let out a surprised gasp and Prudence felt a solid torso collide against hers, under layers of silk and lacy petticoats. They tumbled to the ground and she blindly reached for the hood of his cloak, slipping it off and feeling silken strands of hair underneath the tips of her fingers. She gasped, pulling back.

Inquisitive, glassy, blue eyes peered up at her with a dazed frown. Prudence slid away, startled and a little more than entrance by the sudden splash of color that blinked up at her.

**_Blue. Aquamarine. Azure… how many colors shined in those brilliant irises of his…?_**

"Howl…?" A blush blossomed on her cheeks as her eyes took in the Royal Wizard's every familiar feature. He was disturbingly handsome as always. Handsome in a way that left her wanting and winded.

**_Drowning in those bottle blue eyes…_**

Howl winced as he sat up and her father quickly hurried by to offer his arm and excuses. "So sorry, Lord Howl! You'll have to forgive my daughter, she's not feeling well…"

The Royal Wizard, who was apparently Howl, ignored her father and stood, the grace of his movements leaving Prudence delightfully speechless. His cloak was unclasped, showing an impeccably exorbitant green tunic that clung to his slender and surprisingly toned body in a most flattering manner.

**_His movements are like a dance…_**

"In fact…" A wicked gleam came to her father's eyes, as he shot Prudence a sideline smile. "She's drastically sick, Lord Wizard. A mysterious illness has befallen her, and as you can imagine, my good man, the treatment has been very costly and taxing on our family."

"Enough, Damien," the Wizard cut off her father coolly, his voice brisk and rich with deep authority. "Your feeble excuses are…amusing in the least."

Her father gulped.

**_His voice is like spring and winter…lovely and alive, but cold and empty…_**

Prudence stared at Howl in rapture and fascination as he generously offered a hand to her. Wordlessly, she accepted it, feeling heat flood her cheeks in shame of nearly hurting her beloved.

"My apologies,_ Wizard Howl_." She curtsied, averting her eyes from his shining radiance. She knew her parents would have a fit if they found out about their…_relationship_. She felt ridiculously giddy for being able to call it that.

His eyes narrowed as he took her in and Prudence was shocked to find he did not look apologetic in the least for keeping away such secrets about himself from her. Though he always had been rather mysterious about his identity…

She supposed such was expected.

"No need, Miss…?" His acting skills were admirable. If she had not known better, she would have thought he had truly forgotten her name.

"Prudence," she introduced herself shyly, smirking inside. "Lady Prudence."  
><em><br>"_Ah, of course," he intoned, smirking handsomely. His eyes were dazzling, lit up by mirth and vast knowing. Prudence could barely conceal her joy upon seeing his smile again, after the months she had spent without it when he journeyed back to Kingsbury for some...vague business he had to attend to. "I was hoping to bump into you, figuratively, of course…"

**_Was it fate…?_**

Prudence bit her lip. He chuckled kindly, yet indifferently, continuing. "May I have a word?"

"Of course." It was strange how breathless she suddenly was upon being addressed by him. She had dealt with men before. Granted, none of them were as gorgeous as him…Or as charming and sweet…

**_Was it by fate that it would be she who would fall for him in the first glance…?_**

"Well then, Lady Prudence," Howl said, unaware of the thoughts that began to rum rampant in her head. "I assume you know well about your family's, ah…debt…to our good kingdom."

She nodded, red-faced and out of breath suddenly. _He _would be the one to collect their debt and quite possibly force them into bankruptcy?_ Her lover?_

The thought made her blood run cold in dread.

_…**How sad to feel love**_

"And I doubt," Howl turned to glare at her father with twinkling, glassy eyes, "that the King of Ingary would find your daughter's false sickness a plausible explanation for your unpaid dues."

Her father coughed into his shaking fists, body trembling.

**_…For someone who does not want it…_**

_"Yet,"_ Howl drawled, stringing each word elegantly and facing her once more, "your father's fighting forces have helped Ingary in her times of need. In war, especially. So his most gracious Majesty has sent me here with a proposition."

_"A…proposition_?" Prudence wished she could just throw her arms around him at that moment and feel safe again. Everything that was happening seemed so fast and abrupt, as if she had just stepped into another world. Another world where Howl could not –_and would not_- protect her from the problems that had her family cornered. _Trapped._

**_How sad it is to love…_**

Howl smiled charmingly, voice cheery and empty of sympathy. Prudence felt like crying as he droned on. "Not so much proposition as it is a demand, in truth."  
><em><br>_"We've said no already!" her father cut in, heaving and flustered.

"Ah, the decision really falls to your daughter, Damien. And I have a feeling, she is _much_ more reasonable than you."

**_…Without reason or purpose._**

_"What _proposition?" Prudence asked, suspicious and her eyes stinging with unshed tears.

"A union," Howl proclaimed and Prudence's heart skipped a beat, hopeful again. "Between you and the Duke of Kingsbury. A marriage that will be most beneficial to your family, if I may add."

_"Jasper?_" Prudence cried in outrage, remembering the sunken brown eyes, crooked yellow teeth, and thinning hair. She stepped back from him and glared fiercely into his eyes._ What about us? _She wanted to scream._ What about _our_ hopes and dreams?_

She regained her voice. "Why, he's ancient! Absolutely not!"

**_How sad…_**

"Darling, worry not." Her father wheezed, trying to lighten the situation. "We refused on your behalf."_  
><em>  
>"And refusal denied," Howl snapped, looking defiant of her father's words. "I should have know the word proposition would have fooled you into thinking you had a choice, Damien. Either you declare bankruptcy and report to the King for heavy insubordination and lay <em>all<em> your lives at stake. Or you let Duke Jasper save you. Which one will it be?"

**_To have your heart beat for one…_**

_"How_…" Prudence glared at him, suddenly feeling furious at the his beauty and charm and steeling herself against his sparkling smile with all the strength she could muster at the moment. _He had lied to her. He had hurt her. And worse, he didn't seem to care at all._

_"…How am I supposed to marry a man I do not love?"_

Howl let out a precipitous laugh, something that sounded like the peals of silver bells tolling to a sweet, springtime tune. Yet it was harsh and chilling, like frost on winter night.

"A heart is a heavy burden to hold, Lady Prudence. You should get rid of it…"

**_…Who demands it beat for another._**

_…_

_The Witch's words came back to her, bittersweet and mockingly beautiful._

_"I warned you about him…"_

_Yet, before it all, she hadn't cared..._

* * *

><p>"<em>Why<em> exactly are we looking for dresses?" Sophie asked as Honey flung several articles of the very clothing at her.

Lettie and Martha tittered. "It's May Day tomorrow, dear Sophie. You really ought to get out of the shop more often, you know…"

"Oh, yes." Honey blew hair out of her face, grinning like a child given candy. "And with the dresses I've picked, men will be flinging themselves at our feet!"

"Honey!" Martha and Lettie let out giddy shrieks, reveling at how scandalous the words sounded. Sophie could only roll her eyes as she dumped said articles of clothing to the ground, inspecting them curiously and flinching upon seeing the price tag that winked up at her tauntingly.

Honey jumped over, pointing and not seeming to bother with Sophie's apparent uncertainty. "The white one is Lettie's, it should go well with that new ribbon bow she bought. The blue one is Martha, to bring out the darkness of her eyes…"

The girls both squealed in ear-deafening excitement, twirling in their new dresses and giggling in childish delight. Sophie watched, struck dumb by the immaturity they possessed at times. _How am I related to them again?_

"And Sophie…" Honey grinned beautifully, handing over a silken ruby gown, with intricate floral patterns, and crisscrossing laces at the gold-lined bosom. "To bring out your red-gold hair and flaring personality…"

No sarcasm was detected in Honey's voice, but Sophie snorted nonetheless. "Flaring personality?"

"Why of course!" Honey exclaimed. "You don't show it much, hiding underneath that meek shell of yours, but the fire is in there Sophie. You just need to know when to let it out."

"Let it out at May Day!" Lettie cried, already fitting into her gown, and looking remarkably beautiful as she twirled around in it gracefully. Her gossamer curls spun in the air, framing her glowing cheeks and impish grin.

"Oh, yes! Perhaps a handsome young man might accost you this year Sophie…" Martha winked slyly, grinning as she saw her older sister sigh in withheld exasperation.

"Someone tall and suave…" piped in Honey, vividly imagining what ideal she could make out of a man.

"Someone with a brilliant smile…" Lettie added dreamily, fluttering her long lashes.

"And blue eyes…" Martha sighed, her eyes distant and starry with hope.

Sophie grinned at their lovestruck antics, amused by the effect romance brought on girls. "You all flatter. Yet you also forget that I am not pretty."

"N-not pretty?" Martha sputtered, waving her arms frantically in stupefied amazement. "Where did this come from?"

"The mirror," Sophie retorted, tracing a line over features. "Let's face it, I am unremarkably plain in contrast to the other girls in town."

"The other girls?" Honey scoffed, waving away her concerns. "They aren't nearly as clear-headed as you, Sophie. Or as witty and intelligent."

"What good are those traits without beauty to deliver?"

"You know, you're awfully pessimistic," Lettie remarked with a lovely grimace, tossing back her infuriatingly pretty curls. "And vain, now that I think about it."

"I prefer the word realistic, but yes." Sophie shrugged.

"We can't have that attitude in May Day," Honey tutted, reprimanding her with a no-nonsense face. "So, I promise you Sophie Hatter, you _will _meet a young man tomorrow to accost you, he_ will_ be handsome, and I_ will_flaunt it in your face and boast that I was right."

Sophie smirked, letting her fingers run through the admirable quality of the fabric of her gown. "Well, someone's awfully certain about that."

"Did you hear?" Lettie began, changing the course of topic again, as she always did whenever it got too trivial or idle. "The Royal Wizard will be attending May Day."

"Ugh." Martha wrinkled her nose in distaste. "Another wizened old man in our town? As if that old loon Detrini wasn't enough…"

"His name's…Howl, I believe," Lettie said with a smirk, proud to show exactly how much gossip she knew and spread.

Honey let out a startled, hushed gasp. "The same man who broke Lady Prudence's heart?"

"Oh, hush Honey. It couldn't have been." Sophie giggled, a smile quirking her lips up. _An old, homely man with the beautiful, and by far the most eligible girl in town?_

Honey beamed upon seeing her laugh and lifting spirits, tilting her chin up with pride. "And _that_, my dear Sophie, is what attracts them men like bees to honey."

* * *

><p>May Day will take place next chapter! Squee!<p>

_Review, please. :)_

_-Her. Vanilla. Majesty_


	3. Chapter 3

_A story about the fickleness of love and the volatile winds of uncharted desire..._

_A satire of the temerarious nature of newborn affection._

_A tale of a simple hatter and a heartless wizard._

**_..._**

**_Your reviews are really inspiring, guys. Thanks. _**

**_May Day is split between two chapter, please keep that in mind. :)_**

**_Without further ado, please enjoy the next nine pages of 'EOT'_**

-Her. Vanilla. Majesty

* * *

><p><strong>Disclaimer: I do not own Howl's Moving Castle. And even if I did, I wouldn't change anything about it. Nada.<strong>

* * *

><p><em>"Love made this garden<em>

_For the two of us to dream in."_

_~ 'E. John'_

**_..._**

**3: May Day Mayday**

It amazed Howl how easily girls were swayed by a stranger's words, how quickly they were taken by charm and wooed by looks.

It never really got old, seeing as how their eyes had only managed to stray to him in the end. And something about that fact empowered him, made him feel and invincible and…new. As if stepping into a simpler life, the kind of life he envied yet feared.

He did not make his distress apparent to the women of Market Chipping.

He could see them and feel their obtrusive stares as he strolled by the Market Square, in all his finery and flair. His red and golden jacket hung loosely on his shoulders, billowing behind him elegantly. His golden hair was affectionately tossed and played with by gentle strokes of wind, yet somehow it always stayed_ perfect. _Just as he knew they liked it.

He was a daunting prospect for all the ladies in Market Chipping, considering the fact that most of the men were uncouth sailors who didn't give a lick about hygiene or appearance. So they were all strangely content with sitting underneath the shade –admiring from afar– the handsome stranger with the sunlit hair and dazzlingly blue eyes.

Except for one.

…

…

The Witch of the Waste despised men. Or so she liked to think.

It was comforting to find, here in May Day, that she was not the only one stricken with longing for_ him. _It was also a bit disconcerting to find that he had not changed the least. That he was still capable of stealing hearts at the first glance, as he did to her.

She knew him once, she had desired him, and she _still_ desired him against all her better judgment. And because the heart never really chooses who it falls in love with, she knew that if she would have shown her face to him and looked into those impossibly blue eyes, she would have given herself and he would have won.

And he couldn't win. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of it.

The Witch toyed with the velvet strings of her cloak, smiling as he walked by, unnervingly unaware of her presence. The familiar scent of hyacinths burst through her senses and she scowled as the ladies around her let out lovelorn sighs. Was she like this once, in the days when it was _her_ he doted on and showered with flowers and eloquent compliments?

Most likely.

She inspected his self-possessed stride and elegant posture, the way he held himself with such dignified grace that it seemed nothing could shake him from the air of assuredness he had built around himself. Her hands curled around a flute of wine, long ruby nails tapping on the glass, chipping away.

"Oh, Howl…"

She watched him enter through the parted crowds of May Day and grinned wickedly under the dark of her hood, clasping a blackened diamond ring to her chest and muttering an old enchantment she had remembered from Madam Suliman's spellbook.

Tendrils of warm, dusky smoke swirled in the depths of the jewel, glittering with mana and magick. They reached out the translucent panes of the diamond, their touch like ice to her skin.

"You always did make me do my best, didn't you…?"

**…**

**…**

Somewhere far away, the Servants of Shadows lurched from the dark alleys, her call beckoning them from their slumber. Inky limbs slashed out from hiding, splattering on the cobblestone streets of Market Chipping.

A terrible moan escaped through their drenched lips, overflowing with blind need and wanting.

_"Hooowwwl…."_

**_…._**

**_…._**

Sophie watched as crowds of giddy girls and boisterous young men flowed to the streets from deserted houses, like water seeping from canals. The endless tide of laughter and merriment washed over her, leaving behind only a wake of growing dread.

The fine fabric of her dress felt foreign and somehow…_not right._

The collar fitted against her neck gracefully, the bosom and corset accentuating curves that surprised even herself. The sharp lines and sleek designs imprinted on velvet and silk, flowing and wrapping around her in a way that left her empty and uncomfortable.

She glanced at the mirror, at her thin lips, drab complexion, and mousy brown hair. Then down to the exquisite gown that adorned her seemingly unworthy person.

_This_ was not Sophie Hatter.

She glared outside, determined not to let her cowardliness take too strong a hold once more. She could hear the music filter through the air, calling for more victims to infect with zest, calling for the pretty girls in their pretty gowns so that no young man would be left to dance alone.

And so, maybe she wasn't Sophie Hatter, the eldest of three, the poor mouse doomed to a life of failure, the young woman wasting away in an outdated hat shop…

She twirled a lock of curled hair in fingers and let out a breath.

For too long, she had only watched from afar all the beauty and flair that life outside showered upon others. For too long, she had lived with bottled regrets and burdens. For too long, she had watched each day pass by like a stream of memories to dull and unmemorable to remember…

And so she was not Sophie Hatter today.

She smiled slowly.

_"Just a girl in a pretty red gown…"_

_…_

_…_

"Lettie!"

"Lettie, over here!"

"Lettie, I've been waiting _all day_!"

She could barely keep up.

The cooks bustled by in the kitchen, fluttering around flour and wheat in a dizzying hurry as orders zipped by their heads. Lettie was not faring any better.

The men were, at first, sweet and unmoving in their patience, showering her with compliments and offers of dinner through simple orders of bread and biscotti. She'd give it to their waiting hands and gently coax them to the door with a reassuring smile that she'd be there for the whole day and would most certainly think about having tea with them...

Then the young women, in their May Day dresses flitted in, determined to steal at least one of her admirers for the sake of being accosted.

They tugged and pulled on the male customers' sleeves, whining in sweet words for half their attention and shooting her dark looks through long lashes.

It disgusted Lettie.

The young women had apparently only worsened the men's mood, and their directed their vexation on her.

Really, it wasn't fair…

A man held her by the arm, shaking it none too gently. Lettie's lips curled in distaste. A sailor.

"Listen here, sweet cheeks…" he muttered in a slurred manner that suggested he had gotten more than a fair share of the strong _Chateau Romani_ wine so often associated with May Day in Market Chipping. "My sources tell me, you're quite the stunner…" he mumbled, his breath attacking her senses and making her gag inwardly. She squirmed and he tightened his grip, letting out a hoarse laugh. "Fiesty, too huh? Didn't tell me nuthin' bout _that_."

Lettie was so taken with acute fear at the sailor that she had not noticed the crowd of women and men part from their untidy lines, voices fading, as a tall stranger made his way to the table. A pale hands settled on the sailor's arm, long fingers adorned with rings of various jewels. They glittered at her.

The sailor stiffened as the hand drew him away from Lettie, an elegantly deep voice filling the air. "I believe the lady had been harassed enough today, don't you?"

Lettie's eyes snapped to her savior and widened, mirroring the sailor's action as he swerved around drowsily.

The man was tall and lithe, with an expensive red and gold jacket that she could only assume was a fortune worth more than any of the Sunday dresses Fanny had bought her. It hung loosely on his shoulders, halfway down to the black, form-fitting pants he wore.

His clothes however, paled in comparison to his face, which left Lettie absolutely breathless. Pale locks of gold came down to curtain a finely molded face, with prominent cheekbones and symmetrical features. His nose was straight and his chin tapered down to a gently curved point, above which sat the most sinfully appealing lips she had ever laid eyes on. His eyes were glassy and speckled with flecks of black in the dark blues of his irises. He was…_beautiful._

The female patrons of the bakery stopped pestering the men in line, sending him thinly disguised looks of appraisal. The men glared at him, irritated at the way Lettie's eyes seemed set on the stranger.

"Hey, buddy. Listen here…" the sailor continued, jabbing a bandaged finger on the man's chest. "This little lady is _my_ girl. And I'll do whatever I please to her!"

"Good sir," the man replied, the corners of his lips lifting into a calm smile that spoke hints of amusement. "I believe you were in the back of the line."

"What are you going on about?" The sailor ranted, face red. "I was just-"

Lettie could have sworn he saw sparks fly from the man's fingers as he tapped the sailor on his shoulder. She stiffened as the sailor's jaw snapped shut and his eyes cloud over. "Yes…yes I was in the back of the line, wasn't I…?" He turned and stumbled away, as if in a daze.

Lettie gasped and the man turned to face her, his golden hair swaying as he did so. He sent a dazzling grin her way, nearly making her faint with longing. "Really, I don't know how you manage to stay here. It's May Day. A beautiful girl such as you…you should be outside, taking part in the dancing."

"O-oh…I couldn't…" Lettie stammered, her eyes wide as they roved over his every perfect feature.

"It's a shame you couldn't grace the town with your radiance, dear Lettie." The man grinned.

She almost toppled over. "How do you know my name?"

He laughed, the sound musical and pleasing to her ears. "Your nametag."

"Oh." Lettie blushed, placing a hand over it. "Oh, of course."

"While I'm at here, you wouldn't mind filling my order, would you?" the man asked, leaning over the counter with a charming smile.

"Hey!" a man blurted from the line, angered. "We were here first!"

"Oh hush up!" a girl snapped and quickly turned to Howl with a sweet smile. "Nobody really minds, do we girls?"

The young women didn't respond, all too busy staring at him with looks of absolute rapture.

The man chuckled, tapping his chin with his long, elegant fingers. Lettie held in her breath, her thoughts flying through her head in a jumbled mess. Who was this man? And why was he so…_perfect?_

"I'll just take a loaf of French bread, if that's okay."

"On the house," Lettie promised him, breathless and cheeks tinted pink. She fluttered her lashes as she spoke, jutting out her pouty lips.

The man looked slightly surprised, yet a smile graced his handsome features just as quickly, making her heart jerk. "Well, I don't want to argue…" He laughed again, the deep tenor of his voice speeding up the pace of her heartbeat.

_Who was he?_

**_…_**

**_…_**

Prudence sat before the blank canvas, brush in hand as she dappled it with springtime colors of yellow and green. Her mother watched from a nearby chair, inspecting her work.

"Perhaps you should make a painting of the Duke, Prudence. He'd like that," her mother advised.

_What gall._ Prudence marveled at the self-centered nature of her parents, lips curling in disgust. "I don't care."

_Jasper could rot in the deepest abyss of hell for all she cared. He had stolen her away from Howl, and such a sin was unforgivable._

She dipped her brush in a puddle of cream-colored paint, tracing out his every feature carefully. Her mother frowned.

His jaw.

His nose.

She dipped the brush in pink.

His lips.

She dipped it in the darkest shade of blue, coloring out the eyes she had loved for what seemed to be her whole life.

Her mother stood, fidgeting as she watched her daughter's back arch in concentration and eyes glaze over with blind desire. "Stop, Prudence."

Prudence could feel her breath hitch in her chest. _Oh, she could see him… How badly she wanted to see him…_

She dipped her brush again and stroked the canvas, her careful lines making out strands of his sunlit hair. _Such soft hair…_

"Prudence, _stop._"

A hand slapped her wrist quickly and the brush slipped from her shaking fingers, clattering to the floor. She followed suit, collapsing in a heap of silk and velvet as she bended low on her knees and cried into her hands.

_"Howl…"_

_…_

_…_

Poor Prudence. I shall continue with the rest of May Day soon.

Farewell, my good people!

_Review, please. :)_

_-Her. Vanilla. Majesty_


	4. Chapter 4

_A story about the fickleness of love and the volatile winds of uncharted desire..._

_A satire of the temerarious nature of newborn affection._

_A tale of a simple hatter and a heartless wizard._

**_..._**

**_Short chapter, but hope you like it nontheless. Remember that this is Part Two of May Day. And strange things happen at night..._**

**_;)_**

-Her. Vanilla. Majesty

* * *

><p><strong>Disclaimer: I do not own Howl's Moving Castle. And even if I did, I wouldn't change anything about it. Nada.<strong>

* * *

><p><em>"Love is like a child,<em>

_That longs for everything it comes by._

_~ 'The Two Gentlemen of Verona' -Shakespeare_

**_..._**

**4: May Day Mayday**

Sophie did not expect her escort to be so dashing or handsome.

So, in simple terms, her expectations were quite low and by far, realistic.

She had been strolling, or rather hurrying through the Square, quite unaware of the glances many sailors shot her way. She had been planning on visiting Lettie and perhaps covering a shift for her, knowing her sister was far more accustomed and suited to the merriment of May Day, and could contribute more to the people's jubilation.

"Sophie?"

She was stopped short by a large hand on her bare shoulder, loose and gentle. Turning with a little gasp, she found Byron, a boy who worked in Cesari's that she had been fancying for a while. He was wearing a loose white shirt that hung down to his narrow hips and dark trousers. His hair was the color of almonds and his pitch-black eyes sparkled beautifully as he took her in, impressed.

"Wow, I barely recognized you!"

She could have blushed or slapped him, not quite getting the meaning of his words.

But yes, Sophie felt unbelievably pretty in her amazingly garish red gown, and was suddenly capable of breathing at his words. She let her hands rest on the curves of her waist, unable to believe the wonders of a simple change could result to something as amazing as this.

Someone had noticed her. _He_ had noticed her.

"…Thank you."

He grinned and held out a hand graciously to her. "Where to? I'll be your escort for the day."

…

…

Lettie was breathless - much like the rest of the female patrons of the bakery - as they watched the handsome blond stranger eat his food under the shade of the patio outside.

The men had quickly dispersed upon seeing as how none of Letttie's attention was left for them. She was more than glad. Perhaps now, she could dream of him in peace.

The man looked up at the sky, the blue of his eyes lit up as shafts of sunlight emphasized the burning intensity of his irises. As if sensing her gaze, he spared her a glance, coupled with a knowing smirk.

She grinned back, perhaps a little too quickly and a little too eagerly.

"Psst! Lettie!" She turned and found Clary, a young girl who worked with the chefs in the kitchen. Clary made an extravagant gesture of running a hand through her red hair and Lettie instinctively reached for her own, feeling ghastly as she felt frizz and tangles bend under her touch.

Oh, she must have looked _horrible_.

Flushing red as she thought of the blond man's attractive smirk, she scurried to the back room, out to the alley exit of the bakery. Clary shot her a teasing grin as she passed by.

Lettie took a glimpse of herself in the glass window plastered to the brick wall of Cesari's, gasping. She untied her messy bun and ran a finger roughly through her ruined braids. Lines reached below her eyes which looked bloodshot with weariness, matching her hallowed profile and drawn cheeks. The bones of her face seemed to push out of her skin, wanting to escape.

Lettie let her hands drop and her shoulders slump over, her jaw hanging open as she struggled to find the right words to express her disbelief. My word, she was _ugly._

She laughed, trying not to notice how hollow and half-hearted it sounded in her own ears. She was frightened and panicked. The music wafting on her ears were jeering taunts and the fresh air was suddenly so cold and biting.

People had always told her she was pretty. Men doted on her, praising her looks as if it was a sacred thing that no other was capable of possessing.

She decided that disliked the way the stranger seemed to tear apart her confidence and composure with his smile. Though she liked the way his glassy eyes sparkled with amusement whenever he felt someone's gaze flicker his way in astonishment.

Yet, how _hideous _she felt, having seen his radiance.

_This must have been how Prudence felt, _she thought numbly with a longing sigh,_ when her lover had first met her…_

…

…

Howl had finished his loaf of bread and taken his leave.

He had heard the town gossip about the bakery girl Lettie, and how very beautiful she was.

And with a single glance in her way, he had proved them all wrong.

_What was beauty with insecurity?_ It was _nothing._

Not that Lettie Hatter was anything short of stunning. He wasn't blind to that. Yet her confidence had crumpled before his very eyes in such an audaciously abrupt manner that he could no longer handle standing with the mob of admirers that praised her so blindly. What _fools._

_But,_ he thought with a rueful smile, _he would return. If only not to distract himself with her for a while…_

_…For the meantime though,_ he moved away from the bakery yard, hearing the women let out startled gasps far behind him, _he'd let her wonder about him first._

_…_

_…_

Sophie and Byron danced away the whole day, the sun dipping low in between their laughter, entwined hands, and careful steps.

Her pretty red gown sparkled in the dying rays of light, and she had barely given a thought to the strands of copper hair that had come undone from her braid.

…

"I really should go." She cast a look of despair to the starry night sky, wishing she could have stayed and shared the view with him.

Byron looked up from the candlelight the lit up their table, his cheerful face suddenly fading. "Really? Surely you could stay for just a minute…"

"Oh, but I can't." Sophie bit her lip, feeling shame wash over her for saddening him.

Byron was a handsome boy, surely he could find another pretty lady to be with for the rest of May Day. The thought made her spine tingle with unpleasant fright.

_The hat shop waits, dear Sophie…_ Her mind mewled.

"I really must be on my way home." She stood from her chair, back straight and stiff. "Thank you for today, Byron."

"Thank you for wearing the dress." He grinned at her. "It makes you look pretty."

Sophie smiled back before taking her leave, feeling her stomach flutter and her heart drop at the same time.

_…Just a girl in a pretty red gown._

_…_

_…_

Howl's pendant glimmered and pulsed with emerald light, the edges sparking white flares. A warning.

The Witch had come for him.

He fingered his necklace thoughtfully underneath the fine fabric of his jacket as he rounded around the street of the Square, disappearing in the reaching darkness of the alley.

…

…

The Servants lurched into the alleyways like oceans parting into streams. Their legs and arms teetered and shook, like jelly trying to form into a solid shape. Their inky mouths parted again, the sick stench of death crawling into the air as they moaned out to the moon.

_"Hooowwwl…"_

…

…

Lettie sipped tea calmly as the women flocked to the counter, watching night fall behind them. They stepped into her line of sight, relentless and simply beaming. "Oh, is he a lover of yours, Lettie?"

"No." She smiled softly, in spite of herself. She'd remember to entertain the thought once in a while. "He isn't."

"Oh," a young brunette girl said as she fanned herself in the face with flushed cheeks, "but he's so _handsome."_

"We aren't blind, Marice," a mean-spirited blonde snapped haughtily and Lettie immediately recognized her as one of the noblewomen's daughters who strutted around town as if they owned the place. _Candice._

Candice looked out the window, her chin tilted high. Lettie noticed her dress was smooth and not marred by any flaws or wrinkles whatsoever. Candice's lips curled. "He was beautiful…and finely-dressed too. Probably a nobleman." She shot them all disdainful looks, her diamond earrings glittering harshly. "So don't waste your time, _dears_. I know boys like him. And they've got much bigger prey to chase after."

…

…

"Michael…" Calcifer sighed, munching thoughtfully on fresh firewood. "Do you know about the beauty products Howl keeps in the bathroom?"

"Hm? Oh, yes." The boy nodded, stopping his vigorous stirring in the giant cauldron that sat before him. The faint scent of hyacinths flew in the air.

Calcifer sniffed it, frowning. "Are you brewing…_perfume?_"

Michael nodded. "For Howl." He lifted up the ladle that he had dipped in the mixture and smelled it eagerly. "Hmm…too faint."

"Oh good gracious, Michael, you're really starting to scare me!" The fire demon huffed, his eyes growing wide. "You really ought to get out more often."

"Wish I could say the same to you," Michael grumbled.

"Heh, heh…" The fire demon grinned wickedly, his flames turning purple and blue. _"Nice."_

"So…what about Howl's beauty products?"

"Oh," Calcifer's eyes lit up in remembrance. "I was actually planning on asking you if you'd be interested in a little…um, _experiment_ with them."

Michael stopped stirring and froze, his jaw stiff. "Go on…"

…

…

Sophie walked through the compact spaces of the alley, muttering bitterly to herself.

"Didn't even have the guts to ask him to escort me back home…" She thought about it some more. "And _he_ didn't even have the guts to offer to do so in the first place.

Had she been paying attention more and not rambling so mindlessly, she would have hear light, squelching noises that echoed around her, like past time noises of an old nightmare. She would have seen shapes made entirely out of darkness themselves slither out into the night, stalking her steps carefully.

She would have had time to scream before an inky hand crawled up her fingers, clutched her wrists, and wove tight little limbs around her throat. She would have had time to glance around and notice impossibly blue eyes peeking out at her from the shadows of the alley, waiting for the right moment to step out and reveal either a madman or a savior.

Yes, had she been paying more attention, she would not have been stolen away.

…Or rescued, for that matter.

* * *

><p><em>Review, please. :)<em>

_-Her. Vanilla. Majesty_


	5. Chapter 5

_A story about the fickleness of love and the volatile winds of uncharted desire..._

_A satire of the temerarious nature of newborn affection._

_A tale of a simple hatter and a heartless wizard._

**_..._**

**_Short chapter, what else is new? Thanks for the reviews, you always push me to do my best. Can't say this is one of my best work, but I hope you like it._**

-Her. Vanilla. Majesty

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><p><strong>Disclaimer: I do not own Howl's Moving Castle. And even if I did, I wouldn't change anything about it. Nada.<strong>

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><p><em>"Blow, blow, though winter wind,<em>

_Thou art not so unkind_

_As man's ingratitude"_

_~ 'As You Like It' -Shakespeare_

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**5: Rain**

"This is fun." Michael decided with a nod as he squeezed the tube gently, a stream of golden nectar flowing to his waiting hands. Calcifer cackled from the sitting room, his eyes dancing with lingering mischief. It was nice to know they were still capable of entertaining themselves without Howl.

Michael spread the nectar around his face eagerly and dabbed it softly to his eyes, watching them swirl in color and shape, narrowing them from their previous big, child-like size, to sharper angles. His cheeks became more defined and prominent. He gasped in amazement.

"How does this work?" he hollered out to Calcifer, carefully watching his features distort and reshape with dizzying speed.

"You have to tell the potion what glamour you want to wear." Calcifer responded, stretching out from his den of firewood and craning his neck to try and spot Michael.

"Um, okay." Michael blinked at the mirror. "I want to be…err…handsome."

It didn't work. His eyes widened then thinned, his lips popping out then deflating, his nose was twisted and molded into indecipherable shapes. The skin of his arms darkened and paled, shifting to shades of grey and brown

"No," Calcifer snapped, annoyance ringing clear in his voice. "What kind of apprentice are you? Be more _specific_."

"How?"

"You say you want to be handsome, well the potion can't really fit the adjective into a permanent shape, now can it?"

"Um…no?"

"Exactly. Tell it what your ideal of handsome is. Tell it what traits define _your_ perception of _beauty._"

At the word, Michael's changing eyes lit up, and he knew _exactly _what glamour defined the beauty he yearned to posses himself.

"I want to be Howl."

A bright flash erupted around him and his skin boiled, a searing pain cracking down his very bones with jarring might.

_..._

...

Muffled screams pierced the night with unholy dread, and his glassy blue eyes slid away from his escape, turning to find several of the Witch's Servants, crowding around a young and struggling woman—like predators ready to pounce on their next meal.

He scowled, gliding to the flat roofs of the apartments and peering down, curiously.

The young woman's face was barely decipherable in the midnight gloom, yet he could tell by the Servants' grunting and her flailing arms that she was putting up quite a fight.

"No use entertaining them, I suppose..." He mused darkly as he crouched low against his propped knee. "And the girl might cause a stir in town…it wouldn't help me at all."

The Servants let out gurgled noises, as if choking on the dark substance that spouted from their own mouths. The girl grunted and yelled as their jelly-like limbs pulsed harder, encircling her in a pool of shifting ink. Howl frowned, a grimace working their way to his features.

_That Witch and her sadistic games…_

Howl let out a sigh, one that Calcifer complained sounded too 'theatrical' when he practiced in front of his vanity mirror.

"I do hope she's pretty…" He mused as the muscles in his shoulder tensed, readying him for the daring jump he was about to make. "At least something good will come out of this then…"

...

...

"Holy damnation!" Calcifer toppled off the stack of firewood he had once sat on, landing on the ash-coated surface of his neglected fireplace. Shaking imperceptibly, he dared to take another peek, rubbing his wide eyes as if to determine whether or not what he was seeing was real.

Michael strode from the bathroom, clouds of smoke suffusing his suddenly tall figure. Blue eyes sparkled behind the veiling of mist.

Calcifer laughed, his eyes dancing with fiendish glee. "We did it! We actually did it!"

...

...

Sophie did not know what to expect as the inky beings slashed at her gown, spilling murk all over the hem and bosom, clawing at her skin and letting out moans.

_"Hooowwwl…" _They chorused in chilling tenors once more as she squirmed underneath their hulking bodies.

"Present." A man's voice sliced through the air and immediately the ink demons turned to a lone figure standing at the alleyway, his tall frame silhouetted in coats of moonlight. The man lifted a hand to the sky and a stroke of lightning purred from above, thunderclaps booming in the distance.

The demons froze, moaning as they surged forward as one mass, claws reaching.

Sophie screamed.

The man laughed, and launched himself to the sky, rocketing across the sea of black. Sophie gasped, pulling back. _A wizard!_

He landed gracefully before Sophie, the dusk of the night shadowing his features. He outstretched a hand to her. "Come."

Sophie blinked at it, breath hitching in her throat as tears blurred her vision. She felt unreal and distanced, not quite able to believe she was still in the same world she had been a few hours ago; dancing with Byron and admiring his beauty through flickers of warm candlelight.

The demons lurched back and streaks of white flashes splashed against the sky.

The man swept her up effortlessly, taking into consideration her shock, arm fastening onto her waist. She gasped and he whispered hotly in her ear, making heat course through her veins despite the chill of the night. "Hang on."

"What-"

And they flew off into the sky just as a downpour of chilly rain struck the land, drenching her in unbearable cold. Sophie could barely gather her thoughts, yet through the murk of terror clouding her mind she thought, _Was this Wizard Howl?_

Stealing a glance at the man she gasped again, a violent shiver teasing down her spine. He was a far cry from the image she had in mind: old, stout, long white beard, and crinkled, ancient skin.

This man had long blond hair that clung to the nape of his neck in wet tendrils and from the mist of the rain she could see the smoothness of his skin, unmarked by any visible flaws. His head was craned upward as they flew higher, skillfully dodging long fingers of lightning and weaving through a sea of clouds.

Sophie shut her eyes tight and held on to him for dear life.

...

...

The Witch was not pleased.

She sat calmly on the balcony of her manor, a repelling spell cast above her head to keep away the onslaught of rain. Through the veils of mist she could trace the outline of Howl shooting up to the sky like a wayward star, a young girl latched onto his waist.

Her eyes burned with magic as she chanced a closer peek.

His arm was around her, tight and secure. And he was laughing. Laughing at the dumbstruck Servants he left in his wake, now melting into a puddle of liquid darkness at the touch of rain. Laughing at yet another victory and the prospect of another young girl to woo. Laughing at _her._

She had lost. Again.

Yes, the Witch of the Waste was _not_ pleased.

...

...

The Wizard had landed them on a discreet part of town, filled with empty shops and abandoned houses. She fell to the ground in a shivering heap the moment her feet came in contact with land.

Her breath came out in haggard puffs and streams of water trickled down her cheeks. Whether they were raindrops or tears, she could no longer tell.

The Wizard stood before her, his polished shoes touching strands of her hair. She lifted her head to look at him properly.

His hair fell in drenched blond tufts, sweeping over to frame his face like curtain. Through flashes of lightning she could only make out the prominent contours of his face and the elegant plane of his nose and cheeks. Through the dusk, twin eyes colored the most dazzling shade of blue blinked down at her, surreal and beautiful.

"Are you alright?"

It took her more than a moment to realize that he was asking her something.

"I…" Sophie shook her head dazedly, voice unsteady and hoarse. "I'm…just a little shaken is all." _A little shaken? You're plenty shaken, Hatter._

"Where do you live?" His voice was calm and soothing, velvety soft and deep. He kneeled down. "I can take you home."

"Who…are you?" Panic tinged her voice and she grimaced, not liking the way his eyes darkened and how fast her heart throbbed at their close proximity.

The Wizard ignored her question, arms sweeping down to haul her upright and steady by his side. Her limbs went slack at his touch and she leaned against him, quivering. His eyes flew around, shifting and quick, as if he were looking for something. Or someone.

"I live in the hat shop down the street." Sophie blurted, afraid he would leave if she did not give an answer. Her mind trembled at the thought, _Why are you scared? If he leaves…what then?_

The Wizard made no movement or gesture and they stood frozen in the center of the lane, pelted by rain and wind. Overhead, through the din of thunder and gaggle of clouds, a lone figure shot across the sky. Sophie's eyes widened in realization. It was a _person._

The Wizard glided forward, his arms sliding around her and tightening. "Hurry. The Witch comes."

...

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><p><em>Review, please. :)<em>

_-Her. Vanilla. Majesty_


	6. Chapter 6

_A story about the fickleness of love and the volatile winds of uncharted desire..._

_A satire of the temerarious nature of newborn affection._

_A tale of a simple hatter and a heartless wizard._

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**_To say that "it's been a while" is an understatement. _**_Mea culpa, mea culpa, me maxima culpa. **A thousand apologies to all. I'm one of those people who forget too easily, get distracted too easily, and procrastinate too easily. :( Hope you enjoy the chapter because, apparently, I've had it for a (long) while and forgot to post it. Silly silly.**_

_**Though, in my defense, I thought I already did. But seriously though... did I? Am I just re-posting it? **_

_**I don't. even. know.**_

_**Enjoy!**_

-Her. Vanilla. Majesty

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><p><strong>Disclaimer: I do not own Howl's Moving Castle. And even if I did, I wouldn't change anything about it. Nada.<strong>

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><p><em>Fierce midnights and famishing morrows,<em>

_And the loves that complete and control_

_All the joys of the flesh, all the sorrows_

_That wear out the soul._

_~ 'Algernon Charles Swinburne', "Dolores"_

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**6: Glamours**

Howl hurried down the avenue, rain dripping down his dark lashes and clinging to his hair, making it just a shade darker than what he usually preferred. His footsteps were muffled, the ends of his pants sloshing through the waters. He really didn't know what he was doing; running along an empty street with a frantic girl latched onto his arm as the Witch zoomed above them, no doubt waiting for the right moment to strike him down.

The girl had said she lived in a hat shop. And, as far as Howl could tell, there was no hat shop in Market Chipping.

_Perhaps she is fooling me, then._

As if reading his thoughts the girl hurried her pace abruptly, pulling him along as they turned a sharp corner past a dim lamp post, its glow flickering as they passed, seemingly wary of his presence. "It is right across the block…"

Howl could only nod, not liking how heavy his jacket hung on his shoulders and how harshly the rain pelted his clothes, splattering onto the expensive fabric, cold and biting as they pressed against his warm chest. The girl's shoes clacked against the stairs of a modest-looking building, a pair of glass doors standing before them. _The Hatter Shop _was emblazoned in faded gold across the transparent planes_._

The girl retracted her fingers from his wrists in an almost abrupt manner, quickly casting her gaze to the ground as she mumbled an incoherent apology.

"I should be going," Howl told her, his voice steady and reassuring. He really didn't want to have to explain himself, especially to a girl he had met just a few measly minutes ago.

"But…" the girl began, the night veiling her features as she held up a hand to stop him. "Don't you want to get dry? Please, it's the least I can do…"

Howl hesitated, fingering the mottled golden locks of hair that brushed his shoulders. The girl quickly reached into the folds of her ruby dress, pulling out a silver key which she hastily inserted into the lock, pushing the doors open, not waiting for his answer.

Or perhaps, not wanting to hear it.

…

…

Sophie didn't know what she was doing; inviting this impeccably mysterious stranger into her shop. Her fingers tingled from the contact she had shared with him and she waited with bated breath as he entered, fidgeting in her place before busying herself by studying the familiar interior of her home.

She was meticulous in her pointless observation, gaze shifting rapidly to each nook and cranny.

She checked off everything in her mind, nodding at every single detail she managed to swallow past the haze the panic set in.

_'Nothing stolen. Everything in place. Oh, that little crumb of bread is still on the floor. Good. I should sweep that up sometime.'_

Quickly leaning over the counter, she flicked the lights on, desperate to escape the embrace of darkness. A warm glow suffused the room just as the doors came to a silent close. Wiping away strands of her copper hair, she turned, words already tumbling from her mouth in their usual awkward way.

"I want to thank you for…" She stopped suddenly, her breath hitching painfully in her throat.

The Wizard faced her then—sensing her need for a proper conversation—his posture tall and elegantly lithe, like a prince. His eyes caught her once more, their vast blue color suddenly even more vivid underneath the shower of light, glittering like precious sapphires. His features were surreal in their beauty, cheekbones prominent and jaw perfectly curved to a gentle point. His darkish golden hair fell in light tendrils, brushing low over his raised brows in an oddly mesmerizing manner. His irises twinkled and his lips curved to a slight smile, meaningless yet effortlessly arresting.

She felt her jaw drop and her cheeks flush with heat. "Um…"

"Yes?" The Wizard asked gently, drops of water running down his dark lashes and trailing down his cheeks, brushing past lips, just to tease. Sophie's heart constricted.

"I… Thank you." She stammered with a gracious bow of the head and averting her eyes. "For saving me."

"That is hardly needed," The Wizard said through a grin, and his pearly teeth flashed, all light and charm. Yet there was a hint of unease in his tone that betrayed an urgency. "I only wanted to help, miss…?"

"Sophie. Sophie Hatter." The eldest daughter of three blurted, her cheeks flaming to the same red hue as her hair.

"Sophie," The Wizard nodded, a courteous smile on his lips as he tilted his head, blond locks shifting to reveal a pair of jade earrings that winked back at her. "I thank you for your hospitality, but I'm afraid I need to—"

"Are you Wizard Howl?" Sophie inquired rather suddenly, feeling the need to further their talk. "The…the Royal Wizard?"

He seemed to hesitate, there was a flicker of doubt in his eyes that wisped away so quickly she thought it had been just a play of her mind. He laughed, the sound easy and musical, floating airily in the space between them. She felt her blush deepen.

"No. Merely an amateur, if you will." He smiled.

Sophie frowned, remembering the rumbles of lightning that had stormed into the night so suddenly and how graceful his flight was, the deft swings and curves he used to fly to her rescue. Then again, the lightning could have just been the whims of the weather…

Sophie merely nodded. "Oh."

The Wizard stepped back smoothly, the scalloped sleeves of his fine jacket swaying by his hips as he did so. "I bid you a hasty farewell, Miss Sophie Hatter." With a wink and a dash of his pleasant smile he walked away, a breeze trailing behind him like a lost puppy.

Sophie let out her breath and sighed, clutching her head as she collapsed in a chair.

_To think I had once fancied Byron as the handsomest man in Market Chipping…_

…

…

Prudence was not charmed.

Her parents had unexpectedly invited Duke Jasper for dinner in their estate in hopes of curing her despair, something which irked her so deeply she had refused to leave her sleeping quarters for the early part of noon.

"Prudence, darling, have you been getting enough rest?" scolded her mother, as she diligently combed through her daughter's freshly curled hair. "Your eyes have _bags, _dear."

Prudence pursed her lips defiantly. In the mornings before she had played the ever obedient noblewoman she had been raised to be, it was a role she had fitted in well her whole life. And then of course, _he_ had come along, with his sunlit hair and sky-colored eyes. With his charming words and crooning tone, he had pushed her to the edge of propriety, and before she knew it, he had her running barefoot through the gardens with him, letting her hair loose from its braid and embracing the feel of the wind rushing through every strand, flying to the sky to see the stars…

_"Howl…"_

"I daresay," her mother sniffed in disapproval, "you're still thinking about that…that ruffian? You best forget about Howl, Prudence. He's nothing but trouble. It's a good thing he left."

"No." Prudence glared at her hotly. "It's not. And don't you dare say otherwise, mother."

"Darling." Lady Geneva smiled tiredly. "Jasper is a great man. You will learn to love him someday."

"I love Howl."

"In time, that will change,"Geneva assured her, voice inflectionless and hands patting down her hair.

"You don't understand, do you?" Prudence bared her teeth, eyes glimmering with tears. "I don't_ want_ it to change. Not in the least. What I want is for Jasper to go far, far away. Do you know why? Because he isn't Howl, and I can't _stand_ to be in the same room with the man who pushed him away from me!"

"Prudence—" Lady Geneva began warningly.

"…And I want to slap Jasper in the face and tell him I loathe him. Despise him. To make him suffer and scream at him that Howl is gone and I can never, ever, ever tell him that I love him now that…that he's gone off with my heart…and…and…" she hiccupped, tears falling on her dress.

"Prudence…"her mother said again, gentler this time. "Prudence, dear…"

"And…and Howl is out there somewhere with _my_ heart and I still don't have his, even though I've tried and tried _so hard_ to make him see that…he still can't…" Prudence slumped her shoulders forward, her hair falling over in tangled curls. Her mother sighed, pushed them back into place and murmured low under her breath.

"I want to see him again. I need to." Prudence shuddered and steeled her voice. "I need to."

"Oh, Prudence…" Her mother enveloped her in a hug, stroking her curls tenderly and slipping them around a silver ribbon—silver, which was Jasper's favorite color. "I know, darling. I know."

…

…

Michael lounged across the couch in a manner so much like Howl's it sent Calcifer back in a fit of laughter.

The boy's glamour spell had not worked perfectly, but the outcome was far from disappointing. He had Howl's slender build—if a bit stout on the height—and blue eyes. The face closely resembled that of the wizard's, handsome and pleasing, yet there was something off-kilter about that attractiveness. The nose was not as aristocratic as Howl's, and the smile was not as bold and alluring.

Still…

"You did well." Calcifer nodded to the apprentice.

Michael smirked, an action that played well on his new features. "I know."

"You may even pick up a girl or two with that face," Calcifer mused loudly_._

"What?" Michael asked with a frown. "You… don't think I could have gotten a girl with the way I _really_ looked?"

"Oh, quit taking my words to heart, Michael. I just meant…" Calcifer trailed off with incoherent mumbles, knowing the boy would be more than vexed at his hesitation.

"Calcifer!" Michael said indignantly, his brows furrowing.

_"What?" _the fire demon cackled.

And that was when the door had burst open.

…

...

Michael stumbled back as rain drifted through to the house, a momentary flash of lightning framing the tall, familiar silhouette of the very man he impersonated.

"Howl…"

The wizard strode in, sopping wet and deadly silent. He lifted his head ever so slowly, golden tassels of hair parting to reveal his distinct aristocratic features and dark azure eyes, as hard and jaded as before. He took in Michael, in all his glory, narrowed his eyes and swiftly thrust his fingers forward.

Calcifer let out a startled yelp as Michael was thrown back off his feet, crashing over the couch and landing painfully on his elbow.

"Howl!" The fire demon cried, half in terror.

A smirk tilted the edge of Howl's lips, cunning and cold. Calcifer shivered, inching back on the logs, stammering. "H-Howl, calm down…"

"You thought," The Wizard drawled in a dangerously calm voice as Michael's groan filled the air, "that you could put on a false, amateur guise and just stroll into my home?"

"W-what?" stuttered Michael, in the Wizard's voice.

"Your spells have rendered weak," Howl intoned, standing over him, expression chilly and composed. "Your work reeks of mediocracy, witch."

_"Witch?" _Michael gasped, staring up at him. Howl's eyes flared to see how closely their features matched and sparks spewed from his hands and cocooned around the impersonator, a thick veil of heat and electricity.

"I should kill you right now, you know." Howl stalked around the room, voice dark and powerfully deep.

"H-Howl!" Cacifer cried. "That's not the Witch!"

"She wears a guise, Calcifer." The Wizard countered coolly, façade still in place. "Albeit, it was very poorly done."

"But I'm not!" Michael groaned painfully as he staggered to his feet, knees quaking in the face of Howl's legendary wrath. "R-really! Look, take off this glamour…do it!"

Howl turned, his glare sharpening. _"Glamour?"_

Michael faltered. "It's me!"

The Wizard flashed his hand over the boy, making a sharp sweeping motion as the ring on his finger glowed a bright rubicund hue. Michael staggered, collapsing onto the floor, the shroud of glamour falling off him like an unraveling cloak.

Howl watched, face tight and impassive as his apprentice shivered on the floor. Another gleam of light jumped from his palm and struck the boy, who could only gasp in protest.

"Howl!" Calcifer cried. "It's Michael."

"I know now," Howl nodded curtly. "I needed to make sure."

"Make sure of _what?_"

Howl turned away, gliding to the stairs. "The Witch is upon us. And I will spare no chances in making sure this house there are no traitors among this midst."

Calcfier grumbled under his breath. "Sheesh."

"Oh," Howl flew back down, eyes glinting blue. "And stay away from the potions in the bathroom. Or this might become a daily thing."

...

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><p><em>Off to work on the next chapter! No more absurdly long waits, I say!<em>

Huzzah!

_Review please. ;)_

-_Her. Vanilla. Majesty_


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